The Passion at Starbucks
The other day there was a long line at Starbucks. In front of me, a young couple was arguing. They were Italian. I don’t speak Italian but I recognize it when I hear it. Few languages sound so beautiful. Even though the man and woman were quarrelling, their words carried in the air like the smell of roses. She may have been calling him a horse’s ass and he may have been referring to her as a crazy witch, but to me it was opera without the subtitles.
They were handsome together, these two. He was tall and stately, well dressed; she was petite and shapely, wearing dark, form-fitting clothes and long, wild hair. Theirs was a one-sided disagreement. The woman did most of the talking. No, talking is the wrong word. Imploring. Pleading. There were several other people in line between the couple and me, so the woman’s voice was barely audible from where I stood, but her body was screaming. Her hands and arms punctuated every sentence. She leaned in and out with dramatic purpose. Her hair quivered; her eyes burned. His body language was the mirror opposite of hers, suggesting indifference, aloofness and if not superiority, then supreme confidence.
Every so often, the woman would stop arguing, abruptly. She stared up at him waiting for a response, her expression challenged him to find flaw with her argument. He looked straight away; his gaze traveled over her head, outside into the parking lot, across the Atlantic, the Mediterranean, washing up on the beaches of Napoli. Still she waited. When he bothered to answer at all, he would say maybe ten words, calmly and softly, emotions in check. The words hit the woman like a dagger to the chest. Then it was her turn again. And she wasted no time. Rephrase, aim, fire!
I began to think of this couple as an Italian sports car, say a Ferrari or a Lamborghini – the marriage of performance and fine lines. Beauty and power. Passionate by design, but too quick to overheat and break down by the side of the road (or in this case, Starbucks). With this sports car analogy in mind, I felt a certain admiration for the two of them: so great to watch, purring along at top speed, a sight to remember and talk about. In the end, though, don’t most of us drive more sensible cars?
The line inched forward toward the cashier. The couple shuffled along, maybe not aware that they were moving as they argued or even that there were other people watching their spectacle. And maybe there weren’t. I looked around from time to time at the other people in line with me, hoping to make that knowing eye contact that says, “Can you believe this?” But no one was paying any attention at all. Most were on their cell phones or lost in their own thoughts. Apparently, I was an audience of one.
When the couple reached the cashier, the woman paused while her partner placed their drink orders. Money exchanged hands. He said thank you in English. They stepped out of line and then cut back through to get to an open table. “Permesso,” he said as they passed in front of me. She was already back at him. This time, I could hear the consternation in her voice; see clearly the fire in her eyes, the resignation in his.
I got my drink and left. From my car, I looked back inside, through the glass window that framed their table. Yep, she was still emphatically making her case. Days later, I still think about this couple. I wonder what they were arguing about. I wonder if they are like this all the time. Decisions as to where to eat, what movie to see, what setting to put the ceiling fan on, erupting like Mt. Vesuvius. I wonder how many times a week they fight, then say they are sorry. Think of the “make up” sex! I wonder what these two are doing drinking coffee.
9:37:32 AM 
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